agency, or for the police?”
Maria smiled. It was that rare transfiguration. And it was the special smile she kept pigeonholed for moments of surpassing triumph.
“I have not devoted all my life to the teaching of girls, Miss Tanby. Observe to the right of my bookcase....” And the bun of hair jerked sideways.
Miss Tanby looked, even her scholarly eyes dazzled by an array of titles she had never noticed before. She whispered them— “Crime and the Criminal, Brains and Passion, Alderman’s Theory of the Recessive Unit— Good heavens!” She looked at Maria in blank amazement. “I never even suspected—”
“The skeleton in my educational cupboard,” Maria sighed, though it was clear she was reveling in the sensation she had sprung. “Frankly, I have quite a penchant for crime—in the right sense, you understand. I am fascinated—positively fascinated—by the hundred and one methods of committing a murder! My greatest interest is Van Furber’s treatise on forty-two different ways of producing strangulation. A most enlightening work, I assure you. Incidentally, I might remark here that I placed the Langhorn Cinema out of bounds for the girls because of the number of crime films they exhibit. I allowed the girls to have five local cinemas and kept the Langhorn for my especial patronage. I am—ah—not very well known there.
“I have seen many interesting crime pictures. I find there is a snap in the American ‘racket’ picture that is most satisfying. Such is the sum total of my weakness, Miss Tanby. But it is a weakness which I can now perhaps really turn to account.”
Tanby hurdled on the uptake. “In regard to your late brother, you mean?”
“Exactly! I understand crime, crime’s methods, and criminals. I know a variety of angles that will give me the chance to experiment. I am aware from what I have seen of American films that methods over there are very different from ours—that a man in so big a position as my brother was, for instance, might have been the target for numberless enemies. I do not say,” Maria finished modestly, “that I should become a detective. But at least I could er—snoop!”
“Snoop?”
“An American term for implying a sense of inquisitiveness. I could, for instance, look into the details of my late brother’s death. I am taking a vacation and a business trip and I shall turn them both into an experiment.... Now you know why I must leave so quickly. Every day is vital.”
“Yes, of course....” Miss Tanby hesitated over a presumption. Then she dived boldly, “Miss Black, maybe your hobby is not so secret as you imagine. After all—though I should not perhaps mention it—you are known among the girls as ‘Black Maria.’”
Maria smiled icily. “So I am aware. But I fancy that is because the reversal of my two names lends itself naturally to our slang term for a prison van, not because my hobby is generally known. After all, I recall that when I was a girl we used to call the Headmistress ‘Flannel Feet.’”
Tanby did not know whether to look amazed or relieved, so she sought refuge in a hurried assurance.
“I can promise you everything will be treated in strictest confidence.”
“Naturally. I shall expect that.” Maria gave a majestic sweep of her arm. “You have entire authority from now on, Miss Tanby. I shall be back here again for the next term. During the rest of my time here today I shall draw up a time-table for you to work from....”
Maria snapped open her watch. “Nine forty-one precisely, Miss Tanby. That, I think, is all.”
The Housemistress went out with odd notions chasing the algebra in her brain. She remembered Jekyll and Hyde but could not quite fathom how Maria had got that way too....
* * * *
Though Maria departed from the College with complete poker-backed dignity, though she maintained this attitude all through the car journey to Southampton—for fear the school chauffeur should note any lapses and trade them later as common gossip—she was glad to relax once she was within her cabin aboard the Queen Mary.... It seemed to her as the liner sailed on the late evening tide that the receding coastline of England in its soft glow of summer dusk was also taking away a mountain of cares and responsibilities, taking an immense slice out of herself. And deep down she was not regretful of it.
She stood at the deck-rail and watched the seething activity of the quayside fade slowly into a blur. It all became a mist, vanishing as though it had never been.
The next morning the ocean had completely replaced the land, and for five days and nights Maria forgot all about curricula, classes, and girls. She went through a round of sedate deck walks, lounged awhile, listened to the orchestras, read her favorite treatise on crime, went for more walks— That nobody ventured to strike up a voyage-acquaintance with her was no surprise. She knew she looked forbidding, and preferred it that way. Romance to her mind was only appropriate to the twenties.
Altogether the trip was calm and uneventful; the weather perfect. By the time the towers of Manhattan loomed on the horizon Maria was reflecting with no little satisfaction on the benefits the sea air and sun had conferred upon her. The cabin mirror proclaimed she was browner, stronger-looking, well fitted for the private experiment she intended making. Yes, in some ways she even looked dissociated from the inexorable empress of Roseway College.
It was with genuine interest that she watched the quayside draw near, saw for the first time the gray symphony of stone and endless windowed towers which up to now had always loomed upon her from the flat, two-dimensioned cinema screen. Now it was real! Within perhaps an hour she would set foot in it—
Less as it transpired. The liner docked forty-five minutes later in the brilliance of the afternoon sunshine. A porter lumbering behind her with her smaller bags, Maria walked with as much majesty as she could manage down the gang-plank, and the exertion convinced her that her mannish black costume was not perhaps the ideal outfit for a New York mid-summer day.
The press of surging people was bemusing to her searching gaze. It looked as though everybody was looking for somebody else—which they probably were. There was clangor, a hooting of tugs, grinding of cranes, blaring of taxi horns, and the grander, deeper throb of excited humans and their conversation. It was distracting, just a little crazy—then it all began to make sense for Maria as a young man in a soft hat and a lounge suit edged through the crowd. Up went his hat from his dark head and a wide smile broke the tan of his broad, good-natured face.
“Aunt Maria!” he cried. “Aunt— It is Aunt Maria?” he asked uncertainly, as the cold blue eyes swept him.
“Of course,” she said, rather brusquely; and at that he gripped her hand firmly.
“I knew it! I never pull a boner with faces. Photograph at home, you see.”
“Ah!” Maria gave a rather rueful smile. “I suppose it is silly of me but I have never visualized you as a grown man, Richard. In my mind you have always remained at two years of age, when you were brought to visit me in England.”
“Some people still think I’m only that old,” he grinned. “But the fact remains I’m free, white and twenty-five— Say, I’ll take your bags.” He clutched them from the porter and flipped him a tip. “Come on, Aunt, I’ll see you through the barriers. They’re the devil!”
Maria was silent as he propelled her with ardent haste through the mysteries of the Customs. Once through the ordeal she was glad to sink into the cushions of the monstrous Packard Dick Black had waiting for her. He plumped down beside her and pushed up his hat. Effortlessly the chauffeur eased in the gears.
“Whew! Kind of warm, isn’t it?”
Maria was aware of Dick’s quick eyes studying her as he spoke. He was pretty handsome, she reflected. Never do to tell him so, though: he was probably conceited enough already. A very straight nose, strong chin, black hair...hmmm!
“I understand your summers are far hotter than ours,” she said gravely, answering his question, then she said no more for her attention became